


We'll Always Have PyeongChang

by Aksannyi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Olympics, F/M, Olympics, Oneshot (for now), PyeongChang2018, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aksannyi/pseuds/Aksannyi
Summary: Olympics AU. Olympic hopefuls Ziva David and Anthony DiNozzo are both looking for a medal to take home with them at the PyeongChang games, but when they meet it throws them both for a loop. Will they be able to rise above their competition while simultaneously navigating an attraction they can hardly deny?





	1. PyeongChang 2018

**Author's Note:**

> The Olympics gave me a sudden burst of Tiva inspiration, so here is the Olympic AU that no one asked for but that we all need. (Let’s be honest.) This is slow-burn fluff and something I actually considered writing two years ago when Rio was happening, but here we are. 
> 
> As this is AU, there are no spoilers. This is probably the longest oneshot I’ve ever written, but I didn’t want to break it up, so enjoy.

**Friday, February 9**

She wasn’t usually one for fanfare, but Ziva had to admit as she peered into the huge arena in the Olympic city of PyeongChang, Korea, that there was a certain contagious excitement that buzzed throughout the massive space as it slowly filled with hopeful athletes from around the globe.

Israel might be more of a summer competitor, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from enjoying this winter venue, where she’d be competing in her second Olympic Games on the 1500m speed skating circuit. For years, a few women had dominated in the sport, but there had been a lot of buzz around Ziva David back in Israel as their best hope for a medal this year, and her father – and manager – seemed to put a lot of pressure on her to become the first Israeli medalist at the Winter Games.

She had trained nearly her entire life for this, of course, after having tried figure skating in her youth. While she certainly had the strength for it, she found that she lacked a certain graceful flair and her father had decided that her talents could be better used on a much faster track.

That had been twenty years ago. Twenty years of rigorous training, hardly ceasing when she’d served in the Israeli Defense Force. She’d done her time and gotten out, returning to her training with renewed determination, bent on making her way into the Olympics and finding her way atop a podium.

The highest one, if she had anything to say about it.

Ziva David winning the speed skating gold medal would be one hell of a Cinderella story, and the media outlets had been watching her like a hawk as she rose in the ranks over the past couple of years. The pressure hardly bothered her, for it was no worse than her father constantly breathing down her neck the way he was, but she still felt butterflies as the announcers called Israel into the arena in three languages: French and then English, which she spoke fluently, and then Korean, which she did not.

The crowd cheered and suddenly she was following the rest of her small national delegation into the arena, smiling and waving for the cameras and trying not to react when she saw her own face in digital clarity on the huge screen for the crowd, her name plastered at the bottom of the screen as the commentators from all around the world undoubtedly talked about her medal prospects in the 1500.

She smiled and tried to wave in the direction of the cameras then tried not to focus on the screens and cameras anymore, instead taking in the crowd.

Athletes from the other nations already stood on the perimeter, and she and her team basically formed a parade past the other countries as they entered. One of the other Israeli athletes was talking to her father excitedly, so Ziva took the opportunity to smile and wave at members from the other teams who’d already done their walk, catching their excitement and hoping that – despite the spirit of competition – she might find some new friends with whom she could enjoy the festivities when her event was over.

Ziva recognized the Mexican flag as she walked past, noting that Mexico also had a small team but seemed no less excited to be in PyeongChang. Mexico, like Israel, was more of a summer country when it came to the Olympics. She waved at one of the women in their group, and she waved back, clearly ecstatic to be noticed.

They made their way past a few other countries before she spotted the American flag. The Americans boasted a huge Olympic team, and they were a very excited group of people, loud and boisterous. Ziva knew some of the American speed skaters and tried to locate them in the huge crowd, but she was distracted by a man in the front who was waving a small American flag and grinning broadly.

 _Who is_ _he?_ she wondered, drawing in a breath and feeling slightly unhinged when he caught her eye. The man was gorgeous and built, judging by the way that American sweater hugged his form beneath that heavy coat he wore unzipped on his tall frame. Confidently, she made eye contact with him, noting as she did so that his grin widened even further, and he reached his hand out, perhaps to shake or give her a high five.

She went with a high five, opting to appear unaffected though there was something about this man that affected her dearly, and she sensed that he knew it just based on the way he was grinning at her. Ziva walked past, hi-fiving some of the other American athletes as she passed, smiling at them and wishing them luck in her accented English. When she finally reached the man, he looked directly at her and clasped her hand slightly in the high five, sending a tingle down her spine. Once she had walked past him, she heard what she _knew_ to be his voice saying, “Good luck, Ziva David.”

 _How had he known-_ she interrupted her own thought, remembering that her face had been all over the big screen. He must have seen her coming in and recognized her name. But who the hell was he? And how did he unnerve her so?

Trying not to look too affected as she and the rest of the Israeli Olympic delegation took their spot, she resolved to put it out of her mind for now. Whoever the man was, she couldn’t focus on him right now. She had a medal to win. In three days. After that, who knew what could happen?

* * *

 

**Sunday, February 11**

It was just a morning skate – optional, at that – but Tony really needed to feel the ice beneath his skates and fly around the rink with a stick in his hands. Being on the ice always seemed to clear his head, and ever since his encounter with a beautiful Israeli athlete named Ziva David at the ceremony on Friday evening, his head hadn’t quite been clear.

Entirely the opposite, in fact. He felt as though his head was in some fog. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was coming down with a sinus infection, but that wasn’t it. He was in peak physical health, and he was ready to get out on the ice in a few days and show their first opponent – the Slovenians – that he and his teammates were gunning for gold.

They weren’t exactly favored to win, as that was Canada’s position, but the United States Men’s Hockey Team was always expected to do well, though they’d had their share of heartbreak under the five-ringed Olympic banner.

Tony had not been part of the team that had competed in Sochi four years ago, as he had been fighting a rather pesky knee injury that had ultimately resulted in surgery that had kept him sidelined for the better part of a year. When he finally healed, it was with a renewed vigor for the game that had been a huge part of his life for so long, and he’d truly missed the feeling of chasing for the puck and the sound of his skates smacking against the ice.

He was also the oldest player on the team now, and he knew that this was his last chance to get an Olympic medal. His only chance, at that. Even though the US team wasn’t favored to win it all, Tony felt that he’d be more than glad if he could just get a medal. It didn’t matter which one, in his book, but he knew that his teammates felt differently and so he kept that wish to himself. And in the end, all that he could do would be to play his best game, which he was looking forward to doing.

He took a couple of easy wrist shots as he skated leisurely around the ice, making minor adjustments as he did so – a slight adjustment in one of his gloves, another in the angle of his shot. His other teammates appeared to be doing the same, since they didn’t have much time to do anything more formal than just get on the ice and keep their muscles moving, since other teams needed the practice space, too.

No matter what he did, however, Tony couldn’t seem to get that Israeli woman off his mind.

He’d gone back to his room in the village after the ceremony and immediately cracked open his laptop, looking her up and reading articles about her success as a speed skater. He read articles about how she’d gotten into the sport, and even watched an interview she’d given to a British reporter, her English surprisingly fluent and rather musical to his ears. She was Israel’s best prospect in this Olympiad, but he hadn’t sensed any level of angst from her as she’d walked past – only excitement. Being on the men’s hockey team meant that his was not an individual effort, at least not on the same level as speed skating, and even _he_ felt anxiety about the upcoming tournament.

Who _was_ she, then? What was it about her? What was it about this Ziva David that got to him in such a way?

He glided to the edge of the rink and took a sip of his water, closing his eyes as he let the liquid flow down his throat. Immediately, the image of her smiling face on the big screen flashed into his mind, followed by the way she gasped – in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it sort of way – when they’d made eye contact.

She’d been taken by him, too.

It would be easy, he knew, to find her in the Olympic Village. They could go out for a drink, talk about their sport and their love of country, and head back to one of their rooms for a nightcap. He was sure that she’d probably be into it. But this was the biggest competition of both of their lives. Whether she held any interest for him at all was entirely moot. While their events loomed in the future for each of them, they couldn’t afford to get distracted.

Too bad he already _was_ distracted.

“DiNozzo,” barked Gibbs, pulling him from his thoughts. Gibbs was the assistant coach and a bit of a hardass, but he knew the sport inside and out. “Get your ass off the ice.”

“Sorry boss,” he said, shaking his helmet off of his head and skating toward the locker room. Ziva David had already altered his focus, and he wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened. All he knew was that he had to do something about it, and sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

**Monday, February 12**

Ziva’s focus was razor-sharp, but she sensed something different about today’s event, and it wasn’t until she scanned the crowd as she entered the skating arena that she realized why.

The man, who she had learned was named Anthony DiNozzo and played for the hockey team, had come to watch her event.

What would have been a burst of nerves for others turned into a swell of pride that she had garnered enough interest that another athlete would go out of his way to seek out and watch her compete in her event. _Maybe he just goes to all the events,_ she thought to herself, but she somehow didn’t think so. Somehow, she knew that he had come tonight to watch her at her best.

She smirked inwardly at that thought. Her best was _exactly_ what he would see.

Her heat was second, and she was competing with a German, a Chinese woman, and a woman from Korea, who got loud cheers from the crowd as she took her place. Ziva tuned it all out, listening for the ready call and getting into position, then taking off when the gunshot sounded, catching her stride and soaring around the rink.

It was over all too quickly, but she had easily qualified for the next round, and she rolled her shoulders around, taking a deep breath and then a sip of water to calm her nerves. The American hockey player had left her thoughts entirely.

The heats continued, narrowing down the field, and eventually it was time for the final. Ziva had spent her time staying loose and trying not to pay much attention to the other competitors, knowing that no matter what they did, she just had to be better. Worrying about the others would do nothing for her own performance.

She took her place for the final, keeping her focus on the task ahead of her. She took a few deep breaths, dug the tip of her skate into the ice, and waited for the signal. It wasn’t long before they were off again, and she put her entire being into the race, sprinting past the finish line centimeters behind the woman in front of her, the favored skater from Japan, Miho Takagi.

 _Silver._ She’d medaled! Ziva was never much of a crier, but she felt tears welling in her eyes regardless. All of her hard work had paid off, and she would get to step up onto an Olympic podium and bow down as a person placed a medal around her neck.

Even her father seemed proud, though she could sense that he would – at some point – rain on her joy by pointing out that she hadn’t made gold. She hoped that he would at least wait until another night, or perhaps after they left PyeongChang entirely, but she knew her father.

Suddenly, she remembered the other person in the stands, the one she knew had come for her. Ziva turned to where she remembered seeing him, noting that he was looking directly at her, leaving no remaining doubts as to who he had come to see. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nodded slightly to him to acknowledge his presence. He seemed to understand in the moment that that was all she could do, flashing that grin of his that had affected her from the first time she had laid her eyes upon him.

The medal ceremony began and she seemed to float through it, trying desperately to remember every moment while simultaneously feeling as though it wasn’t even real. She remembered stepping onto the podium and waving both of her hands in the air. She remembered being handed a stuffed teddy bear, and she remembered hugging Miho beside her, and the bronze medalist, an athlete from the Netherlands whose name she couldn’t recall at that exact moment.

She remembered the photos, and then she remembered watching as the Dutch athlete got her medal. And then she remembered bending over and having a medal put on her and exchanging pleasantries with the man who presented it to her. She faintly remembered watching the flags raise to an unfamiliar anthem, and then heading back to the locker room where her coach, Monique Lisson, wrapped her in a big hug and told her how proud she was.

She remembered her father giving her a hug and congratulating her, too, and calling her Aunt Nettie back home and telling her the good news.

She remembered saying a silent prayer to her mother and sister, both of whom had passed – her mother of cancer three years ago, and Tali in a bombing six years prior to that.

She remembered the deep breath she took when she was finally left alone to change.

Details, however, seemed fuzzy, and she failed to catalogue every aspect of this evening the way she’d have liked, but overall, she was pleased with the general feel, the _vibe_ of it all, and as she let the warm water wash the sweat and tears off of her tired body, she breathed in another heavy sigh of relief at the way the evening had played out.

It _really_ couldn’t have gone any better than it had. She’d skated her heart out, and in the end it was just enough to make Israeli history – nay, _Olympic_ history. Ziva refused to allow herself to feel sad about not getting the gold medal, and she smiled as she turned the water off, reaching for a towel and catching another glimpse of the shiny silver adornment she’d recently earned for herself.

 _Silver is more my color anyway_ , she thought with a smile as she got dressed, pulling on a comfortable pair of warm-ups and a long-sleeved fleece shirt. She clasped her small Star of David necklace back on before slipping the medal over her neck and pulling her hair out from underneath it, gathering the rest of her belongings and sparing a glance around the room before leaving it, noting that a few other athletes were still finishing up in their own stalls and giving them a wave before heading out.

Ziva shouldered her bag and walked down the hallway and toward the main entrance of the venue, intent on walking slowly back to the building where she was living during the competition and taking in the sights of the village with the added weight of her new silver medal before settling in for the night. It wasn’t too late, but it wasn’t particularly early, either, and she could see the light of the Olympic flame through the large windows in the front of the arena.

Anthony DiNozzo was waiting for her.

 _So much for a quiet evening,_ she thought, but she couldn’t exactly find it in her to mind. “Congratulations are in order,” he said, pointing to her shiny new hardware, and she smiled gratefully.

“Thank you,” she said, unable to find anything more clever to say, so taken by the fact that he had not only come to see her, but that he had waited around simply to congratulate her on her medal.

“I’m Tony,” he finally said, shrugging noncommittally and grinning that cocky grin that she’d already come to find exceptionally endearing, now that she allowed herself to be affected by him.

“I know,” she replied with a soft smile, and he laughed almost nervously, surprised at how quickly she’d turned the tables on him. The fact that she’d gone out of her way to find out who he was made him much happier than he cared to admit, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her about it.

“Were you spying on me?”

“You were on the news program,” she replied coolly, though that was absolutely not the case.

Tony seemed to know it, too. “I doubt that very much.” Truthfully, there wasn’t much the media in any country – other than the United States – would want from him, an aging hockey star recovering from an injury and getting his last shot at a medal. For some Americans, that was a nice special interest story, but for other nations? He was sure none of them would be reporting on Anthony DiNozzo, former Washington Capitals player who had been playing in a Swedish league for the past year while he regained his strength in the hopes of re-entering the NHL.

Then again, maybe the Swedes might care about him, but certainly not the Koreans, or most of the other countries, who would all be supplying their television broadcasts for the athletes to watch in the Olympic village.

And definitely not the Israelis, who had never had an Olympic hockey team and likely cared very little about the sport. “How do you know that I am not a hockey enthusiast?”

“Call it a gut feeling,” he shrugged, laughing it off.

“A… what?”

“A feeling, like, in the pit of your stomach. A hunch. An intuition. A sixth sense. Not like Bruce Willis, mind you, but some sort of… _je ne sais quois._ But you know. You just _know_. You know?”

Ziva did not know, and she had furrowed her brow in deep confusion. “What?”

“I just didn’t see you as the hockey type.”

“I am a _type?”_ Tony let out a short breath. This could be going much better.

“Listen, sorry. I was just trying to get you to admit that you googled me.” At her puzzled expression, he clarified. “Went home, got on the internet, and looked me up.”

“Why did you not just say that?”

“I got a bit carried away,” he replied sheepishly. She spoke English beautifully, but he had been talking in circles. It was no wonder she was completely lost, and while he was already beginning to quite enjoy that look of confusion on her face, he resolved to try to keep himself from going overboard with the idiomatic expressions.

“So you have come to my event to… congratulate me? And then to confuse me with your apparently superior knowledge of your native language – and my fifth – while simultaneously trying to trick me into admitting that I went home from the ceremony the other night and looked up the entire American roster in the hopes that I might learn your name?”

A thrill of intrigue shot through him at that. “Is that what happened?”

“Perhaps,” she teased, a smile turning the corners of her mouth, and Tony had his confirmation. Ziva David had searched for him the minute she’d gotten back to her room.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Don’t you have an event to prepare for?”

“My first game isn’t until Wednesday. And I didn’t say I’d be buying myself one.”

“Make it coffee,” she said, for despite instinctively knowing that she could trust him, all of her instincts as a woman urged her against drinking with a man she’d met for the first time less than an hour ago.

He grinned at that, seemingly understanding her train of thought. “Coffee it is.”

* * *

 

**Tuesday, February 13**

It was just after midnight when they walked into the little café down the street from the speed skating arena, a bustling little place despite the late hour, thanks to the recent influx of athletes and spectators. They ordered and quickly sat down, taking their hot coffee cups to a table near a window with a view of the flame, which was prominently visible throughout the village. Ziva tore tenderly into a croissant, and Tony spread cream cheese on a bagel as they sat across from each other, sharing a quiet moment in the early hours of the morning.

“So who was the first person you called to share the good news?” he asked, indicating her medal. He wondered who he might call if he got a medal, but the only person left in his life was his father, and he wasn’t entirely sure that his dad even knew he was competing in the Games.

“My Aunt Nettie,” she replied after swallowing her food, and taking a sip of her coffee.

“An aunt? Not a parent, or a sibling?”

“Well, my father is my manager. You may have seen him in my entourage the past few days. Slightly taller than me, gray hair, stocky?” He nodded. “So he already knew about it. And my mother… well my mother died. About three years ago.” He knew that she’d gone to the Olympics four years ago. He wondered if her mother had been in Sochi, and if her mother was the motivation to win tonight.

“I’m sorry. My mother died too. When I was nine.”

“So when was that?” she asked coyly, tapping her lip as she played at being lost in thought. “In… 1955?”

Tony scoffed. “Oh you’ve got jokes!” Her laughter was a delight, though, and he couldn’t find it in him to be upset, not with the way her eyes were shining and her head was cocked to the side, her drying curls cascading gently over her shoulders.

“And siblings?” he asked, when she had stopped laughing, and he regretted the way the question stripped her smile immediately.  

“My sister Tali was murdered in a Hamas suicide bombing nine years ago. I also have a half-brother, but we have not spoken in years.”

He blinked, shocked at the frankness of her answer. He’d never met anyone who had experienced loss the way she had, but it hardly seemed to faze her. Ziva merely talked about them as though she was not connected to them, but apart, separate. He wondered if her tough exterior was really as tough as she let on. He suspected that it wasn’t, but he didn’t press.

“I was an only child,” he offered softly, meeting her gaze. He was hoping to diffuse some of the sadness, but it sounded bitter even on his tongue, and Ziva picked up on it.

“I am too, now,” she said softly, and he reached across the table and took her hand, gently squeezing it in comfort, and they sat in silence for a few moments, soaking in each other’s comfort until it was broken by Ziva reaching for her coffee to take another sip.

“Wait,” he said quickly, and she paused, the rim of the cup just below her lips, and he lifted his own in a peace offering, a toast. “To tonight,” he said, clinking the paper cup against hers, and she repeated the sentiment, smiling at him with a twinkle in her eyes.

“To tonight,” she repeated, and they sipped their drinks in tandem, a sudden shift in the air sending a shiver down Ziva’s spine.

It wasn’t long before they found themselves at the doorway of the building where Ziva was staying, a building that looked like a dormitory, and as much as she wanted to damn everything and invite him inside, she knew that he still had an event to prepare for, and the last thing he would need would be the distraction that she would undoubtedly provide, not to mention the lack of sleep. He should get some rest, and he would not get that if he came upstairs.

Tony sensed this, as well, and he didn’t even ask, but he took her by the arm, turning her slightly before she could open the door and disappear inside. “Soon,” he promised, leaning forward, and another shiver ran down her spine, settling deep within her and causing her entire body to feel warm, despite the extreme chill of the air around them.

“Soon,” she whispered in agreement, stepping up on her toes and pulling him by the neck toward her, fusing his lips to hers and shuddering at the electricity that shot through her at the contact. A low groan sounded from deep in the back of his throat, and she opened her mouth to allow him deeper access, teasing and tasting his lips between her own, his arm wrapping tightly around her back as he pulled her tightly into him, his entire essence surrounding her.

The kiss was _fantastic,_ and she supposed she had known from the moment that she’d laid her eyes on him that he would evoke this reaction from her. She sighed into his embrace, melting against him, trying desperately to devour him in this moment, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough but simultaneously needing it to be, at least for now.

They were slow to pull apart, their faces lingering in each other’s space for several moments, tiny kisses flitting between them as they reluctantly pulled away from each other, panting for breath. “Soon,” she said again, giving him a soft smile, one that told Tony that she _definitely_ was not entirely made of that tough exterior that she displayed. He couldn’t wait to get to know her. She reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Good luck, Tony DiNozzo,” she said, releasing him and sliding into the building for the night.

* * *

 

**Thursday, February 15**

Tony had not seen Ziva since the night of her medal, and honestly, that felt like too long.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to, of course, but he’d had practice on Tuesday after sleeping a bit later than he’d wanted to – though he did not regret it, not in the slightest – and then he’d had to go out with the team on Tuesday afternoon for a team meal, a last bit of merriment before the work began, and under the watchful eyes of his teammates and coaches, he needed to appear as focused as he’d ever been.

It had been easy during the game on Wednesday, for although he knew she was there in the stands – he’d felt her eyes upon him, even if he hadn’t seen her – his focus on the puck was unwavering. He hadn’t scored against the Slovenians, but he’d gotten an assist in their victory, and that was enough for him to know that he was on his game.

And he was _on._ He felt better than he’d ever felt. It may not have been the roaring crowd of Capitals fans, seeing as he was all the way in Korea and most of the fans were not Americans, but still, the sounds of the game and the feeling of the ice beneath his feet had been exhilarating, and despite his nerves at being on the Olympic stage for the first time, he felt great. His knee was feeling just as strong as ever and he didn’t quite feel his age, even while chasing down guys half his age and slamming them into the boards.

They’d won easily, and he was confident and ready for the game tomorrow. They’d had practice this afternoon and they would have another one tomorrow morning, but tonight was his, and he intended to find Ziva and spend a little more time getting to know the woman who had captivated his thoughts almost every moment since he’d gotten to PyeongChang.

“Penny for your thoughts,” a voice from behind him said, and he smiled as he realized who it was. Ziva was standing behind him in the plaza, apparently choosing to use the fact that he had been lost in thought in order to sneak up on him.

“You’re rather light on your feet for a speed skater,” he observed.

“Startled you?” she teased, a glint in her eyes.

“In more ways than one,” he agreed, and just like that, the mood shifted again, and they both knew that he meant more than just in this particular moment.

“You played well on Wednesday,” she said, wanting to ensure that he knew that she’d gone to watch him, despite never having been a fan of hockey before meeting him. The sport was exciting, that was for sure, and she suspected that she would soon be hooked if she continued to spend time watching him play.

“Oh?”

“For someone who is washed out, I mean,” she said offhandedly, though her smile let on to the fact that she didn’t believe that he was ‘washed out’ at all.

“It’s washed _up,”_ he corrected, acting exasperated. “And… no I’m not.”

She stepped forward, challenging him with a cock of her head. “Oh really? What team do you play for?”

He stepped forward, challenging her back. “The United States Men’s National Team,” he said. It was obviously a prestigious enough team to be a member of, but he still felt as though she was questioning his ability.

“I mean aside from that,” she continued to tease, taking another step forward, well into his personal space. “Which NHL team do you play for, bigshot? Or are you too washed _up_ for the NHL?”

“I’ll show you washed up,” he breathed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around her, closing the distance between them and kissing her hungrily. It had only been a few days, but he felt starved for her, his lips biting hers as he breathed her in. She tasted like his own personal slice of heaven, and he realized that it wasn’t the Olympic medal that had been missing from his life.

It was _this._

They pulled apart slowly, no less reluctantly than the last time, and although they were in broad daylight and in full view of any onlookers, neither seemed to care, really. “You have a game tomorrow,” she breathed against his lips, her breath puffing out visibly between them.

“I have nothing tonight, though,” he whispered, and she shivered against him. Anyone looking might have mistaken and assumed she was cold, but she was far from cold, despite the freezing temperatures in the Olympic Village.

“Tomorrow morning?” she asked.

“Not until late. Eleven,” he breathed, inhaling her sweet scent before kissing her again.

“I’ve… I do not understand it, but… I have not been able to stop thinking about you, Tony,” she said softly, and it was his turn to shiver, her words touching him somewhere deep inside. She took a breath, her cheeks turning red with the chill of the air around them, and continued speaking. “I have been trying to give you space. After all, you have your event still, and I do not want to jeopardize that for you. I should not come along to distract you and keep you from your goal.”

“But here you are,” he said softly, running his gloved fingers through her hair and tucking her winter cap a little lower over her ears.

She leaned forward and kissed his neck, breathing him in and trying desperately not to devour him right here in the public park. “If this is not okay, please tell me.”

“Everything you are doing is okay,” he reassured, wanting her to know just how okay – more than okay – everything was.

“Would you like to come into my room for a while?”

 _God,_ yes. “Maybe not for… _sex…”_ she continued, drawing the word out and causing him to feel a tightness in his groin, “but just to spend some time together?”

“I would love to spend some time with you,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to take her hand in his and allow her to lead him into the building and up to her room, which was blessedly toasty compared to the Korean air.

They both spent a few minutes taking off some of their extra layers – hats, gloves, scarves, winter coats, and boots – and soon settled on a small couch in front of the TV, which offered Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon, and soon Tony was flipping through Netflix with Ziva leaning against him, regaling her with reviews of the movies he had already watched on the streaming service.

“You really love film, don’t you?” she asked, turning her head to look at him, noting how intently he scrolled through the list of movies in search of something with potential to make their evening better. He took this task seriously, and she wondered at the man who was so lighthearted about many things but serious about movies.

“It was something my mother and I shared,” he said softly, turning his head and meeting her gaze, the air heavy between them. “I’ve always loved the things a good film can do for the soul.”

A soul, Ziva was beginning to learn, that held so much more depth than she’d originally assumed. What had started as an attraction based on mutual lust had quickly become something more, and she realized that there was so much more to this American hockey player than a drive to excel in a sport, but a heart and soul that was unmatched in any other she’d encountered.

“What is your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “There are so many great ones. Favorite what? Horror? Animated? Oscar-winner?”

“Favorite memory associated with a film,” she supplied, watching with interest as his eyes clouded slightly and he became wistful.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice lowering as he gave himself over to the memory. “It was the last film my mom took me to before she died. She was fading and we both knew it, so I made a vow to treasure it forever, and I never broke that promise.”

“What movie was it?”

He smiled, realizing that he hadn’t given her the title. “ _The Little Prince,”_ he said. He’d never told another person about this. It was a level of intimacy he’d never felt with another human being, and Ziva was nothing but understanding.

“Tali – my sister – loved that book,” she said softly. “’That which is essential is invisible to the eye’,” she quoted, and he knew then that this woman understood him, understood his soul. He put the remote down, reaching to cup her face in his hand, pulling her gently to him and kissing her softly, slowly.

Where their first kiss the other night had been slow and almost tentative, and their kisses earlier familiar and sweet, this kiss was different entirely. It was a meeting not just of their lips, slow and languid, their bodies fusing together, but of their souls, the connection between them growing deeper than they could have ever imagined.

They didn’t end up watching any movie, and Ziva reached for the discarded remote and turned the TV off entirely, opting instead to stay wrapped in Tony’s arms as they talked about their lives – how they’d gotten into their respective sports, their families, their school experience, and stories of college, from Tony, and the military, from Ziva.

At some point they found themselves on the bed, the conversation becoming more intense, and the kisses becoming slower. Despite the warmth of the room and the growing heat between them, things moved no further, and they drifted off beside each other, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets.

* * *

 

**Friday, February 16**

The bed was warm, and Ziva was drifting out of a lovely dream – one in which she had fallen asleep in Tony’s arms after a night of baring their souls and talking about the big and little things that mattered in their lives.

She shifted slightly and realized that it hasn’t been a dream at all. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes again, wanting to remain in this bubble of warmth for a little longer, but she checked the clock on the bedside table, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to relax if she didn’t know what time it was.

The clock read 10:18, and she groaned, knowing that she would have to send Tony on his way, for he had practice this morning for his game tonight. She turned around, moving his arm from around her waist, and smiled as she took in the sight of him sleeping peacefully. His hard features had softened as he breathed deeply, his face showing the trace of stubble that he’d been lax about shaving.

“Tony,” she said softly, shaking him gently, but he didn’t budge. Knowing that he had to be at the rink in half an hour, she refused to give up, shaking him a bit harder this time. “Tony,” she said louder, hoping to get his attention, but he still didn’t move. “Tony!” she said even louder, and this time she was taken completely off guard by him wrapping his arm around her and flipping her onto her back, peppering her face with kisses between her surprised gasps and giggles.

“You have practice,” she admonished, and he smiled, for he knew that, of course.

“I know,” he said. “But I really didn’t want to get up just yet,” he added, and her heart contracted at his words. She’d felt similarly, but she also knew he’d regret it if he didn’t get out there and give his all toward winning a gold medal.

“Think of it this way,” she said, stroking his cheek gently as she looked up at him. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get on with the rest of your day, and then you’ll have your game started and over with and you can come back here. If you want.”

“That sounds perfect,” he replied, leaning forward and kissing her gently before finally crawling off the bed and straightening his hair, which had gone quite unruly in the night.

Ziva sat up on the bed, unconsciously following him, in a sense. “Is this moving too fast?” She knew that, in the grand scheme of things, they were taking their time and being patient, but she was not used to giving herself so freely to others, and she wondered if she was putting her trust into this man too soon. He’d been in the middle of putting on his jacket, and he stopped, one arm halfway through the sleeve of the coat.

“I think it’s going at exactly the right pace.” He shrugged, sliding his hand all the way through the sleeve and running it through his hair. He wasn’t worried, necessarily, at the speed at which they were moving, but it definitely surprised him how _easy_ it had been between them. He felt as though he had known her for years, like she had always been a part of his life somehow.

But he could tell that Ziva was not the type to open up to people. When he read and watched her interviews, he could sense an unwillingness to get too personal with the interviewer, answering only questions that scratched the surface, and evading the ones that went a little bit deeper. She gave vague answers to questions like, “Who is cheering you on at home?” Ziva didn’t want or need the world to know her business, and he sensed just how much she was giving him when they spoke about such things intimately.

He wanted her to know that she could trust him with her secrets.

With her heart.

It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and he wanted to reassure her. Sitting back down on the bed, he gave her his full attention, cupping her face in his hand and rubbing his thumb gently across her lips. She sighed into the contact and closed her eyes, leaning toward him to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’ve never shared this much of myself with anyone,” he said, wanting to let her know that he, too, was giving of himself in a way that was unusual and special, and her eyes flew open at the admission.

She lifted her head back up, looking at him intently. “Neither have I,” she admitted, aware that he already knew that, “I just don’t want…” she trailed off, her eyes clouding over as she let the thought hang in the air between them.

“Whatever you don’t want won’t happen,” he finished, hoping that it would be enough for her, at least until later. He had to get going, but he hated leaving her in this worried state. “Will you be at the game?”

“Only if you promise to score,” she teased, following him as he stood and standing up on her toes to kiss him.

“Oh, you want to see me score?” he asked, tangling his fingers in her hair and kissing her again. _God,_ she was like his own little piece of heaven and he couldn’t seem to stop kissing her.

She did want to see him score, but not on the ice. “Yes,” she breathed, and he knew exactly what she meant with that one word. It sent a shudder down his spine, but he didn’t have the time to act on it at the moment. If he didn’t leave in the next couple of minutes, he would be late for practice, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Gibbs or Franks – the head coach – wouldn’t bench him even for such an important game.

“Hold that thought,” he breathed against her skin, giving her a small kiss on the cheek this time. “And I’ll see you tonight,” he added before putting his hat on and heading out the door, leaving her longing and breathless.

“I will see you tonight,” she said to her room, empty now without Tony’s comforting presence to fill it. She would meet with her father and Monique for lunch today to pass the time, and then attend the hockey game tonight. Ziva couldn’t help the feeling that it would be more than Tony’s heart out on that ice this evening, and she shuddered at the thought.

It was too soon, wasn’t it? Too soon to be feeling so intensely about someone? Was it the heightened emotions from being at the Olympic Games, a place where everyone’s tensions were running higher than normal? Was she merely being caught up in something artificial, being lifted up as if by a tornado, only to land hard in the wreckage of her reality when the winds of Olympic-fueled sentimentality eventually died down?

She rifled through her bag, looking for something comfortable to wear for the day. Her favorite pair of jeans, slightly worn but a perfect fit, and a cozy cable-knit sweater that was a couple sizes too big for her and therefore perfect for the winter weather. She would shower, get dressed, and call her father for lunch.

And try not to think about how long it would be before she could see Tony again.

* * *

 

**Saturday, February 17**

They’d won the game, thanks mostly to Tony’s two goals scored in the second period after a scoreless first. The team had stayed in the locker room listening to words of motivation from the coaches and then talking about the plays that worked and the ones that weren’t as successful. They would be playing the Russians tomorrow – technically “Olympic Athletes from Russia” due to the doping scandal that had been uncovered and they wanted to talk some strategy before heading back to their rooms for the night.

“No celebratory trips to the bar,” they’d been reminded, as if any of them would go out and get rip-roaring drunk the night before a game as important as this one. They’d already clinched a spot in the next round, thanks to the six points they’d amassed in the tournament, but a win over the Russians would put them in an excellent position moving forward, with the exact sort of momentum they would need to push for a gold medal. 

Before they left, however, the current owner of the Warrior Sword, a dull bronze sword they passed around the locker room for morale, would pass it on. The first keeper of the sword – given by the coaches – would then pass it to the next player he deemed worthy of it after the next game, and then that player would decide the next. It was a bit of tradition to raise the sword high above the head and give a small speech about the team and how they’d win in the next game.

Tony was shocked when the previous holder of the sword, Timothy McGee, one of the other “older” players, who had never quite gotten to the NHL but had played comfortably in a Canadian minor league team, handed the weapon over to him. He had scored the goal on Tony’s assist in the first game, and he was seemingly passing the torch, calling Tony the game’s most valuable player, a statement which was unanimously agreed upon by the other guys in the locker room.

“Wow, guess this old guy’s still got it,” he said with a chuckle, swinging the sword lightly and twirling it in his hands. The rest of the room laughed with him, some of them a bit more sheepishly than others. Tony knew that some of the younger guys didn’t think he still had it, but he’d proven himself tonight.

“Thanks, Tim,” he said, pointing the sword at the other player with a grin. “I just went out there determined to find those holes in the goal, and you all set me up perfectly for it. Just doing what I do, playing my best game. Couldn’t ask for a better set of guys to have my shot at a medal with. So,” he paused, raising the sword in the air, “let’s get ourselves some shiny new neckwear!” he declared, and the guys stood up in a rousing shout, rounding out their raucous cheers with a chant of “USA!”

When he was finally able to extract himself from the locker room, he noted it was nearly one in the morning. They were only having an optional skate in the morning so they’d be rested enough for tomorrow’s game, but it was still a lot later than he’d wanted to get out of the lockers and get to bed.

Ziva was waiting for him when he rounded the corner, and all of the weariness he felt at the late hour vanished and he grinned widely. She was a vision in an oversized sweater over jeans, her long curls cascading down her back. “Hey,” he said, his pace quickening just slightly, and she echoed the greeting, her soft word sending a shiver down his spine.

How was it that this moment felt so intimate when they were in such a non-intimate location?

“You scored,” she observed, hugging her folded coat against her body.

“Twice,” he added, waving the sword around as if to showcase his prowess on the ice. At her confused glance, he stepped toward her, showing the sword and explaining its significance. He could sense the way she seemed to swell with pride for him, and it added to his own sense of accomplishment on the evening.

“Walk me home?”

“Home? I mean Israel is a pretty far walk from here, isn’t it? Maybe to your _room?”_ he teased, and she reached over to smack him lightly on the arm. He knew damn well what she meant, though the thought of him coming with her to Israel, to her actual home, sent a shock of longing through her. To show him where she’d grown up and all of the memories that came alongside it. She desperately wanted him to be a part of her life after these games had finished. Her father would not approve, of course, but she couldn’t worry about him right now, and she was more than old enough to make her own decisions in her life.

“For now,” she acquiesced, letting him in on her thoughts, and she couldn’t help but notice the look of intrigue on his face, and then how his mind wandered, perhaps to thoughts of bringing her around to the place that he called home, as well.

He smiled, setting his bag down and throwing his heavy coat on, and he waited as she did the same. “Well then let’s go,” he said, and they walked from the hockey rink back to her building in the village, spending another night wrapped in the warmth and comfort of each other’s arms.

* * *

**Tuesday, February 20**

It was a rare day off for Tony, a designated rest day given by the coaches as they would be entering the elimination round of the tournament tomorrow, and they wanted to be ready for their opponent.

They’d had a strong showing this time around, and everyone was cautiously optimistic about their chances at a medal, but there were some really great teams on the ice this year: their Canadian rivals, of course, who were still favored to win, but also the Russians and the Swedes, and the surprise breakout by the Koreans, who’d done much better than usual, as bolstered by their home crowd.

Tony didn’t want to think about hockey today, however, as he knew that if he obsessed about it, he’d get too far into his own head and it would negatively affect his game. Instead, he’d decided that he’d try to figure out what – if anything – Ziva had going on today, and see if she’d want to spend some time with him, maybe at another event.

They’d spent most of their time together in private, and he was wondering if she would be okay with going out in public together. He wasn’t sure where her mind was at on that front, but he didn’t exactly want to hide her.

He wandered around the village by himself for a while, thinking about how his priorities had shifted since he’d met her. It was true that he was still focused on getting a gold medal with his team by the end of this week, but while he assumed that his days off would be spent with one or two members of his team, he now wanted to spend as much of his spare time as he could with Ziva.

He didn’t want to simply go by her room, in case she wasn’t there, and also because they always seemed to just meet up with each other organically, without specific plans to do so, and Tony honestly liked it better that way. It was for that reason that he didn’t have her number yet – not because he didn’t think she’d give it, but because he kind of didn’t need it.

The café they’d gone to that first night they’d spent together was coming up on his left, and he crossed the plaza and walked over to the entrance, deciding to get himself a coffee and a few pastries. He’d eat a more suitable dinner, but a snack right now wouldn’t kill him.

Ziva was there, sitting across from her father at table in the back, and she didn’t look thrilled, judging by her body language. She was speaking rapidly in what he could only assume was Hebrew, her voice raised and her hands moving wildly as she punctuated her points. He had never heard her speak Hebrew before, and he was oddly captivated by this display, despite the knowledge that she was clearly upset by something.

Rather than intrude, he turned back to the counter and ordered his drink and a doughnut, taking it gingerly by a napkin and walking to a table on the other side of the café. If Ziva had seen him, she didn’t indicate, so he sat alone and watched people come in, order their food and drinks, and enjoy their Tuesday morning comfort food.

Lost in thought as he sat watching a family of four talking animatedly over their breakfast, he was completely taken by surprise when Ziva stormed up, took his hand, and yanked him out of his seat and out the door, leaving his almost-finished coffee on the table behind him. He’d never seen her like this, but he didn’t stop to question her until they were outside and a suitable distance away from the café, stopping in his tracks and forcing her to turn around to address him.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked, sounding a little more annoyed than he wanted to in the moment, but she had completely taken him by surprise.

“I needed to get away from my father,” she said, taking a deep sigh and finally looking him in the eye, revealing that she was a little bit more upset than he had originally thought. Her eyes were red and it seemed to him that she might have been crying, though he hadn’t seen that when she was talking to her father.

“I didn’t start crying until I ran out of there,” she said, reading his thoughts. “My father does not like for me to show any weakness, and he thinks that emotion is a weakness. He thinks that you are a liability.”

“Me?” Tony asked, surprised at this development. So Ziva’s father was aware of their… relationship? Was that what it was? “But you already won your medal.” How was he a liability if her event was already over?

“And it was not gold, he keeps reminding me,” she said, heaving a deep sigh and rolling her eyes.

“Didn’t you just give Israel its first medal in all of winter Olympic history?”

She nodded, another tear welling up under her eye. “Yes, and it is not good enough to him,” she replied, letting the teardrop roll down her cheek.

Tony gathered her in his arms and held her, letting her cry it out on his chest. His father hadn’t exactly been the most supportive individual, basically dropping out of his life from early adulthood onward, but at least his father didn’t ever make him feel like he never met any expectations. His father didn’t have any at all, which wasn’t exactly better. It was just a different type of hurt, one that was pretty dull at this point, especially considering he hadn’t seen or heard from his father in at least a year.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tony admitted, reluctant to break the silence but wanting to comfort her in some way.

“You do not have to say anything, Tony,” she said reaching to wipe her face. “Just being here for me is enough.”

A surge of warmth shot through him at that, and he stroked her back gently until she stepped back, wiping her face again and shaking her head as if to rid herself of the negative energy. “I have today off,” he said hopefully, and she smiled, her first smile he’d been able to draw from her today. “And I was thinking we could go watch some skiers or something.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” she asked, a teasing lilt returning to her tone, and he grinned back at her. That was _exactly_ what he was doing, and he nodded eagerly. “My father would not approve,” she demurred, but he knew that she was just acting coy and that she wouldn’t stop herself from seeing him on account of her father.

“Good,” he replied, and she laughed heartily at that, leaping forward and throwing her arms around him, her breath warm against his exposed neck. Somehow, he knew exactly what to say to make her feel better, and she wondered if it would always be this easy between them.

A small voice tried to remind herself not to be thinking with words like “always.”

Hand-in-hand, they walked to the bus stop that would take them out to the skiing venue, for the slope was one of the spots that wasn’t within easy walking distance. As athletes, they could attend pretty much any of the events they wanted without too much fuss, as long as there was space at the venue to accommodate them. Lanyards around their necks, they boarded the bus that would take them there, and when they arrived at the slope, they showed their lanyards again and found seats toward the middle of the hill, where they could just about see the end of the course.

The stands had some of those metal heaters around, but the wind was still cold enough that they didn’t want to take their extra layers off. Tony and Ziva sat together, watching the women coming down the slopes on their snowboards, oohing and ahhing with the crowd at the impressive tricks they performed in midair.

Watching the other events was something Ziva had wanted to do throughout the entire Olympics, and while she’d spent her fair share at the hockey rink watching Tony play, she’d wanted to watch other sports than just hockey, and she was glad to share this with him instead of attending events by herself or with the other Israeli athletes, none of whom she knew very well.

Once the snowboarding event was over, they came back to the village, opting to head back to Ziva’s room and order some food in. Tony turned on the TV, flipping through the various channels and their differing coverage. He paused at the Israeli network, wondering how it might differ from the coverage on NBC, who had the rights to broadcast in the States.

He couldn’t understand a word, but it was an interesting look into Ziva’s homeland. He was just about to change the channel when he saw his face on the screen, right next to Ziva at the snowboarding event. They were clearly there together, as they were talking intimately together, their faces mere inches apart. Ziva – in the flesh, not on TV – sat down next to him and watched the screen, listening to the broadcast and translating for Tony.

“The text on the screen says, ‘Ziva David – American boyfriend?’ and they’re talking about how cozy we look together,” she said, groaning slightly. It wasn’t that she was all that concerned about people knowing about the two of them, as they hadn’t exactly been trying to keep it a secret, but she didn’t exactly relish the thought of becoming a news item for something other than her skill on the ice.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, ever perceptive, and she turned to face him, no longer listening to the broadcaster, but noting that their faces were still on the screen out of the corner of her eye.

“I just prefer to live a private life, Tony, that is all. I do not like the idea of people speculating about my personal life.”

“Well why not put it to bed and tell them what it is so they don’t have to speculate?”

“What is it, exactly?” she asked, and the lighthearted nature of their conversation immediately shifted to something more serious. She glanced at the TV again and noted that the commentators were still talking about her outing with Tony and about how cute they were. Ziva didn’t disagree.

Before he could answer, Ziva spoke up, turning her attention fully to him. “I was hoping that it was something… lasting. The Olympics have been a goal of mine for some time now, and while I may be considering a return in four years, I know that it is only temporary. I cannot compete forever. But perhaps this is something that _can_ last. Something permanent.”

“Permanent,” he echoed, surprised at the honesty of her statement. “I never expected to find something permanent in such a temporary place.”

“Neither did I,” she replied, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. Tony was the last thing she had expected to find, but she wouldn’t have changed a single moment of their time together. Everything, from the first moment she had caught his eye in the Opening Ceremony, had been more than she could have ever expected to find. Tony complemented her in so many ways, and she could hardly believe that so little time had passed since she’d first met him. It felt like he had been a part of her for so much longer, and he’d had such a profound impact on her that she couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore.

“I have no intention of this – _us –_ being a temporary thing, Ziva,” he said after several moments, and she lifted her eyes, gazing into his and seeing honesty reflected there. Her heart leapt in her chest at his words, and she leaned forward, tilting her face toward his and capturing his lips, kissing him tenderly and pouring every last bit of emotion into the embrace.

He responded eagerly, reaching to run his fingers through her hair as he deepened the kiss, his jaw flexing as he kissed her hungrily. He loved her. This was the moment when he knew for certain that he had fallen in love with her, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that when they left this place, they would remain forever entwined.

* * *

 

**Wednesday, February 21**

Tonight was the first elimination round game, and Tony and his teammates were just about to take the ice. His relationship with Ziva had gotten a bit of buzz on some of the American news networks, and his team had given him a well-mannered ribbing about her, though he could tell that it was all in good fun. Gibbs had reminded him about losing focus, but considering he’d been playing his best game the entire tournament, Franks had told him to stuff it and to leave the man alone.

Tony knew that he liked Mike Franks. He was certain that if Gibbs was the coach, he might have instituted a “no girls” rule for the team throughout the Olympics. Tony had snorted at the thought. _Good luck enforcing that._

He didn’t care about what the team – or his coaches – had to say about Ziva, though, because what he did off the ice was really none of their business, as long as it wasn’t illegal. What mattered would be his performance _on_ the ice, and that had been unmatched since the start of the tournament, so they had no room to criticize his personal life.

They stood for the anthems, his skates moving slowly on the ice as he kept his muscles loose. Tony was a defenseman known for shooting rockets from the point, and he would not be participating in the face off – that was a man named Dornegut, who was currently playing for Boston College and would be looking at getting drafted by the NHL in the next year or so.

Tony took his position on the ice as the warning whistle sounded, and he watched as the rest of his teammates stood around the circle, too. The ref dropped the puck and they were off, Tony skating rapidly into the Korean player next to him, slamming him into the boards and chasing after the puck in the hopes of getting it under control and setting up the team for an offensive push.

It was just a few minutes later when it was time for a line change, and he hopped over the bench quickly and settled in to watch the second line take their turn, shouting words of encouragement at his teammates as they fought to get the puck under control, playing the hard, physical game they were known for. Tony took a quick squirt of water and watched as another line change took place, letting the third line onto the ice. Korea was in the midst of a change, too, and the US line took advantage of their slow change and skated the puck forward, much to the chagrin of the Korean crowd watching the event unfold.

It was a young guy named Cole on a breakaway, handling the puck expertly and shooting a wrister at the goal, shaking his head when the resounding PING of the puck bouncing off the post caused it to ricochet up and out of play, causing the referee to whistle the clock to a stop.

Now it was time for him to get back on the ice, and he hopped over the bench, skating leisurely to his position for the faceoff. Dornegut – nicknamed “Dornie” by the fans – won the draw and the puck came flying back to Tony, who cradled it gently in his stick and sent it flying toward the net in a blast of a shot that soared past the Korean goaltender.

The American people in attendance roared in excitement as Tony raised his stick above his head, skating around on one leg and celebrating his goal. It was a beautiful goal, one for the highlight reels, but the clock had only ticked down to about fourteen minutes, leaving plenty of hockey still to be played. His teammates came to congratulate him, one of them patting his helmet roughly and the other leaping into a triumphant hug, but soon enough they were all set up for another face off at center ice, ready to do it all again and try to put another one on the board.

The rest of the first period passed uneventfully, and soon it was time for the first intermission, where his lone goal stood as the only marker of the Americans’ lead. He knew that the coaches would tell them that they were doing well but they couldn’t let up, and he knew that he and his teammates were hungry – but the Koreans had the support of the crowd. He hoped that they’d manage to pull this one off so they’d be one step closer to their dream of winning an Olympic medal.

The second period opened with an American goal in the first ten seconds of play, giving them an additional edge and much more pressure on the Koreans. Tony refused to let up, however, and his teammates were right there with him, continuing to play as hard and as fast as they’d played out of the gate. The Koreans were still playing well, though, and it was only a matter of time before they took charge of their situation and got themselves a goal.

Their chance came late in the second when, in an attempt to clear the puck from their own zone of play, Tony got called for holding. He sighed, exasperated, as he skated slowly into the penalty box, watching as Gibbs barked at the refs and McGee tried to petition their case, but to no avail.

It was only two minutes, after all, and they could defend against the Koreans for two minutes.

This was the opening the Koreans had been waiting for, however, and with thirty seconds left on their power play and with Tony yelling at his team to get the puck out of the zone, the Koreans scored, their shot whistling past Jimmy Palmer, their goalkeeper. “Fuck!” Tony shouted, forgetting himself in his frustration, but skating out of the box, hungrier and angrier than before. He would make sure they got that one back.

There was only a minute left in the second period when he got escorted off the ice for fighting, socking a guy in the face for knocking McGee down and injuring him, potentially taking him out of the game. It turned out McGee would be fine after getting back up and skating around a bit, but Tony hadn’t known that at the time and he’d gone after the other guy in retaliation, punching him hard. His team had to kill off another penalty, and he heard the roar of the Korean crowd behind him as they apparently scored another goal while he stewed in the locker room, waiting for his chance to come back for vengeance in the third.

Gibbs was _livid._

The intermission speech was much different than the first one, and the coaches reminded them that they had to play cleanly – at which point every player on the team turned their head and looked at Tony pointedly.

“Is it this girl getting in your head like this and causing you to play like a _moron?”_ Gibbs barked, and Tony felt his anger grow at each word, but he merely clenched his fists and said nothing. How _dare_ he.

He narrowed his eyes at the assistant coach and resolved to get his game back on track. It had nothing to do with Ziva, and they both knew it – Gibbs just had a chip on his shoulder for some reason. He would go out there, skate his heart out and put another puck into the back of the net. That would shut him up.

The game being tied at two brought a much more nervous energy into the stadium, and while many players would have buckled under the pressure, Tony seemed to thrive on it. They were not the home team in this game, and that just made it even more imperative that he brought his best game to the table again, and as soon as the puck dropped, he was playing like a man on a mission, his focus singularly on the puck and keeping it away from the Korean players.

His opportunity came about halfway through the third, when McGee and Dornegut took the puck in the neutral zone and traded it back and forth on a two-on-one. Tony skated quickly to catch up, calling for a pass which he got, and he took the slapshot from the point – his specialty – and sent it flying so hard into the back of the net that it bounced back out. The Korean goaltender covered it with his gloves, but everyone knew that Tony had just scored the third goal in the game, the potential game-winning-goal, if the score stood.

“Yeah!” he shouted, pumping his fists into the air and embracing his teammates. _In your face, Gibbs,_ he thought, knowing that a huge part of his success this evening had been due to spite. It wasn’t until about three minutes remained in the game when he managed to score again, celebrating the elusive hat trick – scoring three goals in one game. Dozens of hats flew onto the ice, which caused the officials and the ice crew to pause the game in order to pick them up, but one caught his eye – a winter cap with the light blue Israeli Star of David on it that he knew had been thrown onto the ice by Ziva. He skated to it, picked it up and held it high, his way of signaling that he knew she was there and that he had her support – not that he’d doubted it – and that she wasn’t keeping him from greatness, but the opposite.

She inspired it.  

* * *

 

**Friday, February 23**

It was all too familiar a tale for the United States Men’s National Team – playing solid, tough matches in the early group phases of competition, only to lose when it counted the most. Their game tonight, the semi-final playoff against the Canadians, had resulted in another heartbreaking loss after a late goal by one of the Canadians had put them ahead with just twelve seconds left on the clock.

As hard as they’d tried, there just hadn’t been enough time to mount a proper offensive and get the goal back in order to try and force an overtime period, and so Team USA would be playing for the Bronze medal tomorrow against the Swedes.

Tony had played his heart out, as had the rest of his team, and they knew that the Canadian team would be the most difficult team to beat, so their spirits weren’t too down at this point. They merely knew that they had to pull it out tomorrow at the medal game, so they could at least fly home with some hardware.

Ziva knew all-too-well the sting of a disappointing loss, and rather than offering platitudes and comforting words, she sat beside him in silence, their feet up on the little table in front of the sofa as they watched Dirty Dancing on TV, smiling at the Korean dub that gave the movie a different vibe, despite neither of them understanding a single world of Korean.

They were simply enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence, a comfortable silence settling between them as they enjoyed the familiar movie together, their hands clasped together and their bodies leaning against each other.

“This may seem silly,” he began, wondering why this just now occurred to him, “but can I have your phone number?”

The question took her by surprise, considering they had always found each other without the devices, but she supposed that if they planned to keep in touch after the games – which was coming sooner than they would both like – then they would need to exchange contact information. “Of course,” she said, “though you already know where to find me.”

“I know, but tomorrow is the medal game. And I want you to be the first person I call when we win the bronze,” he said, recalling their earlier conversation about who she had called when she won her medal.

“But I will be there watching, and I will see it. I will already know,” she protested, though she was touched all the same.

“I know, but I still want it to be you, Ziva,” he insisted, squeezing her hand. “I want your voice to be the first I hear congratulating me after our win. I want to share it with you first.”

“And if you don’t win?”

“We will,” he insisted, but he gave her hand another squeeze. “Then I want to hear your voice anyway. In the ups and the downs, it’s you I want by my side.” It was an admission that still took her by surprise, the insinuation that he wanted her to be with him always. She was beginning to feel as though it might become a reality, and she felt her heart clench with longing at the thought. She wanted it, wanted _him._  

“Well I will be there, no matter what happens,” she vowed, and he leaned forward and kissed her, wrapping her in his arms for the rest of the night, treasuring these quiet moments they shared.

* * *

 

**Saturday, February 24**

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game, and Tony whipped his gloves off and threw his hands in the air in celebration, skating toward his teammates and allowing them to envelop him in a huge hug.

It wasn’t the gold, but he was thrilled to be leaving with a medal today, and as soon as he got off the ice and back to the locker room, he couldn’t wait to call Ziva and tell her that they’d won.

It wasn’t that long before his wish was granted, and he and his teammates all spent a few quiet minutes in the locker room, granting each other a ten-minute reprieve from the hooting and hollering in order to contact their loved ones, many of whom were back in the States and waiting for a long-distance call.

His loved one was Ziva, and she answered quickly, indicating that she’d been waiting for his call. “We did it,” he announced, and she acted like she hadn’t already known, shrieking with delight and sharing in his joy.

He’d never known Ziva to be the type of woman to scream, as she was much more subdued than that, but he appreciated the effort to make him feel great about his victory, giving him the congratulatory boost he’d needed after everything he’d done to get himself to this point. She understood him, and he loved that about her.

“I’m so happy for you, Tony,” she said, her smooth tones caressing his ear through the device. He’d never spoken to her on the phone, and it was thrilling that their first call together was this sharing of such joy. “I’ll see you later?” she asked, and he nodded as he confirmed that she would, as soon as he got showered and cleaned up. His teammates were going out to party, no doubt to get drunk off their gourds and celebrate into the night, but he only wanted to spend the evening with Ziva, celebrating quietly with the person who had come to matter most to him.

As if she was reading his thoughts, she asked, “Are you sure you do not want to go out and celebrate with your team, Tony? You earned this, after all.”

“I’m sure,” he said, laughing as one of his teammates popped open a bottle of champagne and began spraying the room with it. They were acting like they’d just won the Stanley Cup, and it was fun, but he just wasn’t sure he wanted to drink himself into a stupor tonight. “We’ll probably get some of that out of the way before we leave here tonight,” he added.

“Text me when you’re on the way to my room,” she said, knowing that he would linger in the locker room for at least a little while.

“Okay,” he replied, taking a bottle that McGee handed him and having a sip. He didn’t exactly enjoy champagne, but he may as well take a little bit.

“And Tony? Enjoy this, okay? I’m so proud of you.” A pause, and she felt a sudden burst of courage. “I love you,” she said her heart beating rapidly at the admission, and Tony felt a surge of warmth at the words. Had she really…?

“I love you too, Ziva,” he said, glad to have it out there, and he hung up the phone, stuffing it back in his bag. He left it there for all of two seconds before taking it out again and sending a text message, letting her know that he was on the way, because he realized in this moment that he wanted to celebrate this with her.

Her return text came a few moments later, saying that she’d be waiting, and he felt a shiver of anticipation shoot through him. The tournament was over, and all they’d have would be the medal ceremony after the gold medal game tomorrow, but other than that, he had no need to conserve energy anymore, and he wanted nothing more than to show Ziva exactly how much he loved her.

He showered quickly and did his best to avoid being sprayed with more alcohol on his way out, playing the age card with his younger teammates who tried to get him to stay, though some of them knew exactly why he was leaving, and none could say that they blamed him. McGee clapped him on the back and said something about being happy for him, and then he was out the door, his feet carrying him rapidly in the direction of Ziva’s building.

She opened the door almost as soon as he knocked, and he surged forward, wrapping his hands around her waist and pushing her against the wall, kissing her desperately, plundering her lips and taking everything she had to offer.

She moaned into the kiss, running her hands up his arms and into his hair, pulling him by the neck and attempting to practically swallow him whole, so desperate to taste him. “I want you,” she breathed against his neck, and he growled in response, stripping off his coat and dropping it behind him, turning to kiss her again as she fumbled with the zipper on her hoodie, revealing that she was wearing nothing beneath.

 _“Oh,”_ he gasped, taking her in and admiring her form, taking his gloves off and running his hands up her stomach and to her breasts, reveling in this moment of discovery between them. His thumb brushed against one hardened nipple, and she moaned at the contact, sending him spiraling into an uncontrollable vortex of lust.

“Tony,” she moaned breathlessly, and his cock jumped at the sound of her calling his name like that. Slowly, he started to walk them toward the bed, reaching for the hem of his shirt and stripping it off, dropping it carelessly behind him as he wrapped his muscled arms around her torso, pressing her down and into the bed.

He was kissing her hungrily, his hands tangling in her hair as he pressed against her, their bare chests touching as they shared this intimate moment together. “I feel like I’ve waited forever for this,” he growled against her, and she responded by rocking her hips up and into his, feeling his hard length between them, despite the layers of clothes keeping them apart, at least for now.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” she breathed in response, running her hands down his arms and to his torso, reaching for the hemline of his pants, a pair of black warm-up sweats that he liked to wear after games. “I want to feel you,” she breathed, and he couldn’t help but agree with her statement, shifting up and off of her long enough to slide his pants down, watching with interest as she removed her own pants, leaving them both wearing only their underwear, his tented by his impressive erection.

“Did you mean it?” she breathed against his lips, reaching underneath his boxers to grab him, delighting in the groan she was able to elicit with her touch.

“Mean what?” he moaned, his brain struggling to form thoughts with the way her hand felt against his skin. She was stroking him deftly, her hand bringing him to new heights under his boxers and he desperately wanted to bury himself deep inside of her and make her scream his name until they were both unable to move.

“When you said you love me?” she asked, wanting to hear him say it again, to feel the words against her lips as he bared his heart to her. He’d been teasing between her legs, his fingers reaching but not quite _there,_ driving her crazy with the need for him to simply touch her already, but he stopped at her question, wanting to make sure that she knew that he wasn’t simply saying it just to say it.

“I meant it, Ziva, and I mean it again now: I love you,” he breathed, surging forward to capture her lips in a desperate embrace, their bodies entwined as they kissed each other hungrily, their lips saying what their words could not in this moment.

His body was straining toward her, and he was desperate to feel her. He wanted to do everything – to taste her, to tease, to touch – but right now, he just wanted to be inside her, to feel her pulsing around him as they joined their bodies for the first time.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ziva pushed him away slightly, lifting her hips to pull her panties down and off of her body, breathing, “Take them off,” meaning his own undergarments, and he wasted no time pulling them off and tossing them aside, his boxers meeting her panties on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Please,” she begged, and he took himself in hand, rubbing the head of his cock between her wet folds, hissing at how slick she was. She was so wet and desperate for him, and she lifted her hips slightly, as if to encourage him forward. “Please,” she said again, this time more desperate, and he rocked his hips, entering her slowly, sucking in a breath at the contact.

She felt _perfect,_ better than anything he could have possibly imagined, and he wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life. “God,” he groaned as he surged forward, entering her fully, and she rocked her hips against his, begging for the friction she desperately needed.

“You feel so good, Tony,” she breathed, her accent thicker in the throes of passion, and he couldn’t keep himself from kissing her in that moment, wanting to be connected to her in every way, and she reached for his hand and clasped their fingers together, squeezing his hand as a signal that she understood his need for connection.

He moved slowly at first, rocking his hips against her in a slow, torturous drag, working to build the pressure between them slowly, wanting to draw it out as long as possible. “Tony,” she breathed, her body clenching around him as he slid between her legs, his pace quickening as she rocked her hips to match his pace.

“You feel like heaven,” he breathed into her ear, kissing down her neck and to her collarbone, and she half-giggled, half-moaned in response as they drove themselves closer to the edge, their hearts and bodies moving as one, slowly building their pace as they hurtled toward completion.

“Faster, Tony,” she begged, and he picked up the pace, ready to chase that release for the both of them, his hips rocking into hers more forcefully, their bodies thrusting roughly together in search of the highest peak, one they would strive toward together.

 _“Oh!”_ she cried, and she felt her entire body beginning to tense, reaching between their bodies to tease herself, working to bring herself even closer to release. “You’re so good, Tony… _please…”_ she begged, and he seemed to know exactly what she needed, thrusting roughly against her and causing her to yelp in pleasure, her body trembling with pleasure as she felt herself climbing to the highest peak, her skin tingling as he took her to new heights in his arms.

“Tell me you’re close,” he begged, and she nodded, unable to utter a single sound other than a deep moan as she began to clench around him, her release crashing over her in wave after wave of pleasure, her hands tangling in his hair and digging into his scalp as she came with his name on her lips.

“Ziva,” he moaned as his thrusting grew more erratic, her orgasm sending him over the edge, and as he surged forward one final time his body seemed to tighten with his release until he was shuddering on top of her, his body heaving breaths as he collapsed on top of her, spent.

“Wow,” she breathed, turning to kiss him lazily on the corner of his mouth, her own stamina waning as she held him in her arms, their bodies sated and stationary as they breathed in this moment of post-coital bliss.

“Wow indeed,” he rasped, and she tightened her arm around him in response. If they never moved from this spot, this moment, she would be content, and she sighed happily as she closed her eyes and nuzzled closer to him, allowing herself to fall asleep in the comfort of Tony’s arms.

* * *

 

**Sunday, February 25**

They’d stayed up most the night, making love and holding each other, wanting to commit so much of the other to memory before their forced separation in just a few days. The Closing Ceremony was beginning, and soon they would be going home to their respective countries, needing to complete media tours and other commitments before they could begin to talk about reuniting, and so they’d stayed up most the night getting lost in each other.

Now, they were gearing to enter the ceremony hand-in-hand, as athletes were encouraged to enter not with their teams necessarily, but with their competitors and new friends, a symbol of the unity that the Olympic Games was meant to symbolize. They’d already been seen together at the snowboarding event that caused a bit of buzz in the media, and again at a figure skating event, which had only fueled the media fire until an American reporter had flagged them down and confirmed what they’d suspected – that Tony DiNozzo of the US Men’s Hockey Team and Ziva David, Israeli speed skater were a couple after having met at the Olympic Games.

It made a hell of a story for the media, particularly with the Closing Ceremony’s theme of unity, and she knew that they would not walk into this arena without notice. “Ready?” Tony asked as Ziva put her hat on, the same one she’d tossed onto the ice after Tony’s hat trick. He had given it back to her, despite her telling him that he could keep it as a memento, but she did need it for the ceremony, as they were expected to come back out in their team outfits that they’d worn on the first night of the games.

“I am now,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him toward her, kissing him hungrily before pulling apart and walking with him into the arena, their fingers interlocked and their medals shining in the bright lights of the huge stadium.

It didn’t take long for the cameramen to spot them, putting both of their faces on the big screen, and they took it in stride, waving for the camera and raising their linked hands in the air, Tony kissing their linked fingers for the cameras, and the crowd reacted exactly as expected, with gasps, “oohs,” and “awws.”  

“You’re such a showman,” she said, but they both knew that she was merely teasing him. Walking into the ceremony just over two weeks ago she could have never imagined that she would have found more than a medal to carry with her when she left, but she didn’t want it any other way. As they finally made their way around the track and to their place with the other athletes who had already marched in, she stood in front of Tony and let him wrap his arms around her, turning to kiss him over her shoulder, to the delight of the onlooking crowd, since the cameras had found them again.

She laughed, then watched him notice his face on the screen and he laughed, as well, and they leaned forward to kiss each other again, no longer caring that the rest of the world had a closeup view of their love.

“I didn’t need a gold medal to win,” he said softly, and she shuddered against him, feeling her heart surge at his uncommonly sweet words.

“I love you, Tony,” she said softly, garnering another reaction from the crowd, who had apparently learned to read lips.

“I love you too, Ziva,” he replied, and they held each other tight as the Olympic Games came to a close.

Their life together, however, was just beginning.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are some small snippets of their life after PyeongChang. I tried to keep it brief but well, as with the first chapter, it got away from me a bit. I scarcely think you'll mind that though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to post this sooner, but life is exhausting. Enjoy. 
> 
> Please enjoy this little manip I did, as I was so excited by Tiva as Olympians that I had to make it a reality.

****

**2018**

"I am going to be late, Tony," she reluctantly said to her computer screen. Skype had been something useful during the Olympics to keep in touch with friends back home while she was competing, but now it was an absolute necessity, as it was the only way to keep in touch with Tony while they were apart.

She _missed_ him. As much as she loved to see him on the computer, thanks to the marvels of modern technology, it wasn't the same. And as much fun as having phone sex – video sex? – was, it didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

Ziva was strung so tight she was certain she would burst, and the expectations her father kept pinning on her as well as the constant media and press presence wasn't helping.

Not even getting on the rink and skating around in a maddened frenzy was helping that much.

It had been three weeks now since the end of the Olympic Winter Games, and they'd both gone back to their respective lives. The Olympic Village had been a liminal space of sorts, a place where their lived experiences were altered somewhat, as space where they could simply be together without navigating the challenges of an intercontinental relationship.

It was hard.

"I'll see you later?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She nodded, blowing a kiss toward the screen. He responded in kind, and she mimed catching it and pulling it to her.

When had she become such a _sap?_

The separation was hard but it was necessary, at least for a time. Ziva trained here in Israel, at a state-of-the-art facility in Tel Aviv, conveniently located not that far from her father's place of employment, the Israeli agency known as Mossad. Eli David had always been a workaholic, but he'd been encouraged to take the time to see his daughter compete – if only to complete other tasks while abroad, tasks his daughter was not privy to in full but that she was aware of, at least on some level.

Ziva knew that she was not her father's only focus, and that his job came first. She was grateful to have his attention – however fleeting – while she was on the ice, and she never pushed the issue.

Tony was back in Sweden, in a town called Jönköping where he played on a team called HV71. Their league play had resumed just a week ago, which had given Tony about ten days of time back in the States during which he had been inundated with interviews and press appearances with the hockey team, before all of them were set to return to whatever team they played for.

Sweden was definitely closer than the United States, but it was still far, far enough that they couldn't just see each other every weekend. At least they were in similar time zones now, which made communication much easier. And for now, that was what she would cling to, until they had the opportunity to be together again.

* * *

The media had come up with a ridiculous stunt, one meant to capitalize on their continuing relationship and the similarities between their two sports.

They were _not_ similar at all, Ziva had insisted, but the executives who'd dreamt the idea refused to listen to her, insisting that this was a _great_ idea.

Apparently, the idea had been born during an interview Tony was giving for ESPN on one of their post-Olympics coverage. They were doing some sort of "Where are they now?" segment and had flown some reporters out to Sweden to talk to him about how his life had changed after medaling.

It hadn't, really, not as he continued to play for HV. They weren't really impressed by his hardware, though he could tell that many of his teammates would like to get one for themselves. The Swedish media really didn't care about the American hockey player's accomplishments, and while he continued to give badly-translated interviews to the few English-speaking reporters since his Swedish was, frankly, _terrible,_ they mainly focused on his efforts during his games for the league and not on his efforts with the US team or his relationship with an Israeli speed skater.

It was refreshing, actually. The American media was relentless when it came to his personal life and his goals for the future. _Do you plan to compete in Beijing in 2022? Do you have aspirations to rejoin the NHL? Any problems with the knee? Come on, you don't_ really _like playing all the way over in Sweden, do you? And what about your foreign girlfriend?_

He drew a heavy sigh just thinking about it. Did people really _care?_

But the media wasn't letting up, and they'd come up with a ridiculous event that was created entirely for the sake of the media circus: an exhibition race between himself and Ziva, simply because he had mentioned something about his speed and how great he felt on the ice.

In fact, Tony was pretty sure he'd seen the lightbulb flash over the reporter's head. He knew the signs of someone coming up with a scheme, and it was only a matter of time before he'd get a phone call

His phone rang the next day, and he had laughed. The media was _so_ predictable.

When they told him the idea, he was all-in. Getting to see Ziva again – for the first time in two months – would be a treat in anyone's book, and all he had to do was talk a little smack about how great he was and how he would _surely_ win. Then they'd have this race, give some interviews, and then they'd be blessedly free to reacquaint themselves with each other.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

It was cruel, really, that the first time she saw him again was in front of a disgustingly large media presence from both the United States and Israel, as well as a few from other countries who had decided that this exhibition was worth showing to their viewers. He would also be in his full gear, his US Men's National Team uniform, complete with pads and helmet.

She did not know _how_ he expected to beat her in a race with all of that, but she supposed that was the entire point of it. Apparently, the idea had been born by him bragging about his speed "blue line to blue line." And he was pretty quick on the ice, Ziva would admit, but the distance between blue lines was not long and she doubted that he had the stamina to keep up with her.

Despite what she knew about him in the bedroom. That was a different type of stamina.

She hadn't covered her hair yet for the race, her hood dangling behind her and her goggles in hand, as she was waiting for this scripted bit of trash-talking before getting fully geared up for the race. She glided around the rink a few times, loosening her muscles and trying to keep from thinking about how badly she wanted to see him again.

A flutter of excitement flashed through her as she realized that it wouldn't be long now.

A sound from behind her pulled her from her reverie, and she whipped around to see Tony pushing the gate open and stepping onto the ice, his skates hitting the surface roughly as he skated in her direction.

From across the rink, she skated toward him, too, and they collided together in a rough hug, the force of it causing them to spin slightly as Ziva reached up and took Tony's helmet off, touching his face for the first time and drawing him to her.

_Oh, he felt just as good as she'd remembered._

They were still spinning as they pulled apart, breathlessly, their foreheads touching, and she laughed quietly, whispering against his lips, "I did not know how we suddenly became ice dancers."

He laughed, and it sounded like music to her ears.

And then the cameras were in their face, reminding them of where they were. They pulled apart abruptly and an ESPN correspondent began shoving a microphone in their faces. They settled into the agreed-upon structure of the race – the pre-race interviews where they would give a last bit of competitive chirping before starting the event.

"I do not know how you expect to win with all of that stuff on you," Ziva was saying, looking Tony up and down and trying to hide just how good she thought he looked in his gear. The getup suited him. "Have you not heard of aerodynamics?"

"If it isn't broken, don't fix it," he retorted, his eyes shining with the challenge of it. "This is how I skate."

She gave a smug, "Hmph," at him, crossing her arms and shaking her head. The entire thing was a show, of course, but it was fun to talk a little smack in a friendly competition that didn't mean anything in terms of her career.

It wasn't long before they took their places. They would be racing only 500 meters, which was much shorter than the distance she was used to racing, but she suspected Tony didn't have the endurance for the longer race. Or maybe they just didn't want her to embarrass him, she thought with a smirk.

The gunshot sounded and they were off, Tony getting a surprisingly good start despite all of that ridiculous gear he wore, but he began to drop off quickly after that, and after their short turn around the track, Ziva skated almost calmly to the finish line ahead of him.

"I want a rematch," he panted as he crossed a few seconds later, winded at his effort to keep up with her. He took off his helmet and hunched over, his hands on his knees as he glided around the rink, his chest heaving with the effort.

Ziva took off her goggles and slid her hood off, unzipping her uniform to let herself air out. She stopped slowly, waiting for Tony to catch up. "Perhaps if you wore the proper equipment, you might have been a better match for me," she mused with a smile, adding, "though I doubt it."

"Will you train me?" he asked, his voice lowering an octave, and she shivered at his hidden meaning there. She would teach him _many_ things, but they would have nothing to do with speed skating.

Or with clothes, for that matter.

"Sure, Tony," she breathed, giving the expected response, and he stood back up, reaching for her hand and pulling her back into him, kissing her hungrily and ignoring the cameras and reporters for the time being.

Seeing her again for the first time in front of the media had been a _terrible_ idea, and he groaned as the reporter pulled them apart, talking to them separately about the race and their feelings toward being reunited, which left Tony more than frustrated. He didn't want to be _talking_ about having Ziva back in his arms, he wanted to actually have her back in his arms.

Sensing his exasperation, the reporter finally told him that they'd gotten what they needed, and that the event would air in a few weeks.

Ziva didn't even hear anything after the words, "You can go," she just took Tony's hand and dragged him behind her and off the ice, stopping every few seconds to kiss him as they giggled their way back to the locker rooms, where they would both shower and change quickly so they could go back to Tony's apartment.

She had no interest in going back to her hotel room, not now that they'd finally seen each other again and the heat between them was as strong as it had ever been, and when he'd asked if she wanted to stay with him for a while, she'd jumped at the chance.

Now, lying in bed in the aftermath of their frenzied reunion, Ziva sighed contentedly as she realized that in this moment, she was exactly where she needed to be, and that whatever time they could share together would never, _ever,_ be enough.

* * *

Their race had aired and the buzz surrounding them had grown significantly. A hashtag had surfaced on Twitter, with fans making it known that Tony and Ziva were absolutely adorable together, and the media had taken notice.

Ziva had returned to Israel, as her training facility was still there, but she was beginning to wonder if it might be time for a change of venue, as saying goodbye to Tony the last time was even harder than the first time. She skated daily, but her heart wasn't in it – and how could it be? She'd left it in Sweden, with Tony.

Her father had taken notice of the change, as well, and she could tell that he was not pleased, but she didn't really care what he thought. She still put as much effort as she always had into training. She still was skating at top speeds. Her father had no reason to worry about her activities off the ice, as long as her performance on the ice stayed where it was.

She began to look for decent training facilities nearer to Tony. Even if she was a few hours away from him, that would still be much more ideal than where she was now. She would never ask him to drop his contract with his team, but she knew that this distance was taking a toll on him, too.

The phone rang, shattering her concentration, and she answered it.

Sports Illustrated wanted to put her on the cover. With Tony. Would she be interested in flying to the United States in a couple of weeks for a photoshoot?

Was the sky blue?

This time, she got to reunite with Tony beforehand, and they spent three entire days holed up in a hotel room in Los Angeles before having to get over to their studio for the shoot and interview. That part was uneventful, and they moved on from that without much fanfare. Sure, it would be exciting to see themselves on the cover of a magazine, but the media attention was getting a little old.

Ziva supposed that she would have to get used to the media frenzy if she wanted to continue being with an American athlete. From what she had noticed, the Americans were very interested in the lives and stories of their athletes, something she had never experienced in Israel, where her status as Olympian garnered her attention only while she was competing.

"I have been thinking about relocating," Ziva finally said when they were in the hallway of their hotel, away from prying eyes and ears.

"Oh?"

"Do not act coy with me, Tony, I am sure you would have been considering it yourself, had you any freedom with your hockey contract," she admonished, and he grinned, amused.

"HV _is_ paying me to stay where I'm at," he shrugged as a means of apologizing for their current situation. Ziva technically didn't have much leeway to move, either, as the facilities nearby were probably not of the caliber she would need to train at the level she was at.

If it came down to it, he would choose her over his career all day long, and he was certain she would do the same, but for now, why couldn't they have both? They were still relatively young, and they were making this work as it was. He only had a few more years left in him anyway, and when he finally retired from hockey he could live anywhere he wanted.

"I don't want you to jeopardize your career for me," he finally said, noting the way she had been watching his thoughts – intently, as if she had been able to read them for herself.

"As I said, it is just a thought, for now," she replied with a wave of her hand. "Unless you do not want me to–"

He interrupted her by picking her up off the ground and backing her against the wall, attacking her with kisses which she happily allowed. She melted into him, letting him pour himself into the embrace, their mouths moving in a rhythm they'd begun to perfect over the past several months.

"Of _course_ I want you to be where I am," he breathed against her, pressing his full body against her, indicating his strong desire for her. She shuddered against him, her entire core clenching with need, and she sighed breathlessly at the feel of him, hard and flush against her.

"Mmm, and where would you like me right now?" she asked, a sly smirk spreading on her face.

"In the room," he answered, opening their door and pulling her inside, their clothes off so quickly that she wasn't entirely sure the door had shut all the way before he was pressing inside her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she took him in, writhing beneath him as he thrust into her.

"Oh, _this_ is where you wanted me?" she teased, and he nodded, his breath coming in hot pants against her cheek as he rutted against her.

Their lovemaking was fast and frantic this time, and it was all too soon before it was over, their bodies heaving with the exertion as they came down from their mutual highs. "You belong here," he said, squeezing her lazily with his arm as she lay atop him in the afterglow.

"In your arms?" she asked, tilting her head up to kiss him gently, his lips accepting hers slowly, gently.

"In my arms," he confirmed, and she sighed against him, letting the warmth of his skin and his deep breathing lull her into a contented sleep.

* * *

**2019**

Somehow, they made their relationship work.

Ziva wasn't able to make a move to Sweden happen, not from a lack of trying, but all of the ducks simply wouldn't line up, and she and Tony contented themselves with their long-distance relationship for the time being, reveling in the hockey offseason months from June until August, spending their summer together in a tangle of limbs and hearts.

Ziva had a break for the winter holidays, however, and she flew to Sweden to spend them with Tony, who did not have any time off. He was able to spend the new year with her, however, but soon enough they were back to their separate spaces, in separate parts of the world.

It was hard, yes, but every time they came together it was all worth it.

The call came at twenty minutes past eleven on a Tuesday night, when Ziva was just getting ready to get in bed. An unknown number, but the Sweden country code on her home screen.

"Tony," she breathed, her mind immediately beginning to worry as she answered the phone.

The heavily accented voice was Tony's coach, informing her that Tony had been injured in a game and was currently in surgery. His knee. Would she come?

In a heartbeat.

She was on the first flight out and her mind was a wreck. It was just knee surgery, and not a big deal, but being rushed into surgery seemed to indicate that it was a bigger deal than a simple injury. The flight was long, and while she tried to sleep, it was fitful, her mind concocting all of the scenarios in which something could go wrong.

She finally made it through customs and into a taxi, requesting a ride to the hospital where Tony was currently laid up.

"Tony," she said as she reached the doorway to his room, blessedly devoid of any other people for the moment.

"Ziva," he breathed, his heart swelling at the sight of her. She'd come. Of _course_ she had come, but he still had wondered.

"How are you?" she asked, crossing to his side and sitting gingerly on the bed, taking care not to jostle him too much, lest she cause him any pain. She took his hand, gazing into his eyes and delighting as that familiar flutter shot through her at the contact.

She would never get tired of that feeling.

"I'm okay," he said, squeezing her hand gently. "A little loopy," he added, his words slurring slightly, and she knew that he must be on some serious painkillers.

"What happened?"

"I was on a breakaway. A guy was chasing me, trying to catch me and keep me from shooting because I'm deadly on a breakaway," he joked. "This guy got his stick tangled up in my blade somehow and I tripped, crashed onto the ice hard, but kept going. Momentum, you know?" She nodded. "I ended up crashing – hard – into the goal post and the goalie. And the thing that hit the post? That was my knee. I, uh – I shattered it," he said, taking a heavy sigh.

"It sounds awful," she said, unable to imagine really. She'd had her share of injuries, but none of them involved hitting a metal post at breakneck speed.

"It was. And all I could think about was you. I wanted you to be here," he said, squeezing her hand again, and she squeezed back.

She leaned down and kissed him gently, stroking his cheek with her free hand. "I am here," she replied, though she couldn't help the guilt that bubbled up at the fact that she hadn't been there the entire time.

"You're here," he said with a definitive nod of his head, as if to indicate that he knew what she was feeling and he wanted her to banish the thought that she should have been there. It wouldn't have changed anything.

"So how long will you be out?"

"Doc says six months, maybe four if I'm lucky. But…"

Ziva sensed his hesitation and drew back, looking at him expectantly. "But?"

He took a deep breath. This was it. "Maybe it's a sign, or something. Maybe I should just call it. Retire."

"But…"

"I knew my career was coming to a close. I'm the oldest guy out there. There are other things I want to do with my life." He paused, drawing in another breath to collect himself, then began speaking again. "When the doctor lets me, I want to rehab in Israel. I know you still have to train and you haven't been able to move closer. Maybe this was meant to be, Ziva."

"You're sure," she said, drawing in a breath. He was talking about ending his career. True, the knee injury was pretty big deal, and it might render him unable to play again at his current level anyway. But she didn't want him to make this decision lightly. Not on her account.

"I'm pretty sure. About 99% sure. The last injury almost ended my career. I'm not sure that I can make a comeback. And I'm not sure I want to anymore. I have an Olympic medal. I have you," he paused, reaching to cup her cheek, sighing as she leaned into the touch. "I don't need anything else."

Just then a nurse came into the room, talking in embarrassed Swedish. Tony spoke to her – badly – pointing and using many hand gestures, and soon another bed was being rolled in and set up beside him, apparently for Ziva.

"Stay?" he asked hopefully, and she nodded, slipping her shoes off and climbing off of his bed long enough to help the nurse push the other bed right up next to his. It wasn't long before she was lying down beside him, their bodies further apart than normal but still close, their hands crossing the gap between them.

"I love you," he breathed after a time, his eyes slipping closed as the exhaustion of the day washed over him. He'd had a hell of a day – being rushed to the hospital, being rushed into restorative surgery on his knee, surgery that had lasted hours. And now the woman he loved was beside him and he could rest, knowing he was in good hands – _her_ hands.

"I love you too," she replied, lifting his hand up and kissing it gently as she settled beside him, watching him finally relax into a deep sleep, her own soothed mind finally following.

* * *

Tony made his retirement official about two weeks after he'd been discharged from the hospital, making the statement from a rehabilitation facility in Tel Aviv with Ziva by his side.

He wasn't quite able to walk yet, but he'd been able to stand up – briefly – to deliver the statement and take a few questions. Afterward, Tony had an appointment with the doctor who would be working with him during the rehabilitation process. Tony was still in a huge cast, unable to be mobile without a wheelchair, but when it came time for him to get back on his feet, he'd have a great support team in his corner.

He and Ziva were growing used to living together, and he had already become accustomed to her space, fitting into her life like he had always been there. Despite his immobility, they were happy, spending quiet evenings at home while Ziva spent her days continuing to train for the possibility of a 2022 run in Beijing.

Her father had been notably absent, but he had made it clear that he disapproved of her choice in companion and would not support her. Ziva hardly cared, and made it clear to him that he had no say in the matter and that if he wanted to throw his relationship with her away over someone she loved, then so be it.

He hadn't called since.

Retirement wasn't so bad, Tony had begun to realize. Retirement meant freedom in many ways, despite the pain that he now dealt with in the broken knee which was taking its time to heal. Apparently, he may be walking with a limp for years, if not permanently, though rehab was supposed to help with that.

But the best part of being retired was getting to be with Ziva full time, and the more time he spent with her, the more he began to realize that he didn't want to be without her.

And as soon as he was able, he was going to make sure that she knew that, with a ring. Unfortunately, he couldn't exactly leave the house on his own yet, as his knee didn't give him that freedom of movement, and he didn't know anyone well enough to ask them to help him, so he'd just have to wait until he could get out on his own, shop for a ring, and propose to her.

An idea struck him then, and he reached for his phone, highlighting a number he hadn't dialed in years. His heart pounded as the phone rang twice, and then the man was picking up, the gruff voice oddly foreign after all these years.

"Dad?"

* * *

Tony's father had come through, not letting him down for perhaps the first time in his life, and he answered the door to the mail deliveryman triumphantly, holding the package and thanking the man who had been especially patient in waiting for his slow trek to the doorway to retrieve it.

He still wasn't moving around that well, but this would take time. Time he didn't want to wait, which was why he had called his father in the first place.

When he finally sat back down, he opened the package, taking the ring out gently and rolling it between his fingers.

It was _perfect._

There was a note from his father attached, wishing him well. He'd apparently been watching the Olympics but hadn't wanted to reach out, not wanting to distract him from his goal, but he was proud of Tony, he wrote, and he wished him happiness.

"And I'll be waiting for an invitation," he finished before signing his name. Tony grinned, wiping a small tear from the corner of his eye. Maybe it was time for he and his father to reconcile. He'd call later. After he asked Ziva.

After she said yes.

She _would_ say yes, wouldn't she?

* * *

It had been absolute and utter hell trying to cook when he could barely move about the kitchen, but he wanted to do this thing the right way. Ziva had been out training and would not be arriving home for another hour, and he'd spent most of the afternoon preparing the dining room for this special dinner – setting the table early, as he knew that he wouldn't have time to do everything with how slow he was moving. He had a walker now, but it took him a century to get anywhere right now with the way his knee barely bent anymore.

It was nice to be out of the wheelchair, at least.

When Ziva opened the door, she expected to see Tony sitting in front of the TV, as he usually was, relaxing with his knee propped up on pillows, often with an ice pack, but he was notably absent from his usual spot, and something smelled amazing.

"Tony?" she called, putting her bag down at her feet and stepping forward.

"Go get changed," he said, emerging slowly from the kitchen. "Put on something nice."

"Tony…" she trailed off, sensing there was something he wasn't telling her. "What's going on?"

"Just trust me," he said, and he pointed to the bedroom. "Just go. Change."

"Tony," she warned, and he groaned in frustration.

"I just wanted to cook a nice dinner tonight since it's still hard for me to go out. That's all. I promise," he said. It wasn't entirely a lie, but he was leaving something out. Ziva seemed satisfied though, and she picked up her bag and carried it with her to the bedroom, emerging after a brief shower, her hair slightly damp despite the blow dryer he'd heard from down the hall.

She looked _stunning._

Ziva had put on a simple black dress that flared at the waist with a deep V-neck, left bare of any jewelry except her Star of David. She'd competed the look with a simple pair of heels, treating tonight as though it _were_ a night out and putting on some light make-up, letting Tony have this evening to treat her.

Tony, for his part, had already been dressed up, wearing the only pair of dress pants he had that had been modified to fit over his cast, and a dark blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his mid forearm, showing off the muscles there, muscles that Ziva had made clear she admired, often in the bedroom when she grabbed his arms as he rode her furiously.

A rush of heat shot through him at the thought, but he knew it would have to wait. Dinner first.

She stepped toward him, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him softly, looking into the dining room and seeing the setting he had placed – her fanciest tablecloth and her grandmother's china, candlelight and wine.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, genuinely curious, but he shook his head.

"I just wanted to have a nice night in," he replied, still evading her question, and she let it drop. She couldn't help the feeling that he was up to something, but she was willing to let it go. Whatever he was up to, it would happen on its own, when he was ready for it to happen.

For now, she was determined to have a nice home-cooked dinner prepared by the love of her life.

And enjoy it she did. Dinner was delicious and intimate, as Tony had chosen to sit not across from her but next to her, wanting to be closer to her than the dining room table would have allowed otherwise.

"This has been amazing, Tony," she said, touched at the level of detail and care he had gone to in order to give her this evening. She'd known he could cook, but he'd been holding back. "You are going to need to cook more often," she teased, leaning toward him and bumping him with her shoulder.

"I think that can be arranged," he said softly, and then suddenly the mood seemed to shift, and he scooted away from her, turning slightly.

"I talked to my dad the other day," he said softly, wiping his lip with a napkin and placing it down gently, taking her hand.

"Really," she said, intrigued by this new development. "And?"

"And… it went pretty well, I'd say. But I called him for one reason. I needed him to do me a favor. To send me something important."

Ziva couldn't hide the confusion on her face, but she knew that Tony was getting to something important, so she chose not to interrupt, searching his eyes for the answers she would soon be getting.

"I wanted to give you something, Ziva. It belonged to my mother, and I want you to have it, but my dad had been keeping it safe for me."

Her heart was beginning to pound, because whatever it was, it sounded significant, and Tony seemed to be growing more and more nervous by the second. She squeezed his hand, urging him on as he reached into his pocket and pulled something out, holding it in his closed fist.

"I'd love to have it," she said softly, hoping that her words would urge him forward. She knew how much his mother had meant to him.

He held his hand out to her, opening up his fist to reveal a beautiful ring, old-fashioned in its style, but simply stunning in its elegance. "I want you to have my mother's ring, Ziva, not just to look at, or to put in a jewelry box somewhere, but to wear…" he paused, shifting in his seat and looking away from the ring and to her face, lifting his hand and tilting her chin up to gaze into her eyes. "You'll forgive me for not getting down on my knee," he joked, glancing down at the offending joint, "but I want you to wear it as my wife. Ziva, I want you to be my wife."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily, and she squeezed his hand, still silent as she let him say what he'd come to say. "Ziva, will you marry me?"

A small tear rolled down her cheek as the question passed his lips, and she nodded vigorously, holding her hand out and speaking the word softly but surely. "Yes," she breathed, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Yes, Tony, I will marry you."

* * *

**2021**

Beijing was becoming more and more of a focus in everyone's consciousness, as races and qualification runs had become more and more frequent in the past several months as countries started to assemble their teams of athletes who would best represent them in the coming months. The Olympics were less than six months away, and trials and world competitions were a new constant.

Ziva left the ice rink after speaking with Monique, giving her a hug and kisses on either side of her cheek as she picked up her bag and departed, heading back to the house where she and Tony had recently begun their married life together. Tony had begun to adjust to life in Israel, finding freelance work where his shoddy knowledge of Hebrew was not a terrible detriment, and his knee was finally beginning to heal enough to allow him to start exercising again, though it was just walking at this point.

They'd gotten a dog, a golden retriever they'd named Chang, short for PyeongChang, and Tony had started walking her almost daily once the doctor had given the go-ahead. Walking with Chang gave Tony the opportunity to get out more and to work on rehabilitating his knee.

Ziva was pulling into their driveway just as Tony was making his way up the walkway with Chang, and he let the dog in the house and waited for Ziva to get out of the car, greeting her with a kiss and walking slowly with her into the house.

They got settled, making sure to give Chang her treat, and she settled at the foot of the couch, waiting for her slow parents to reach the couch so they could all relax together in front of the TV.

"So, how did the trial go?" he asked, knowing that Ziva would have news about the upcoming events in Beijing. He was certain she was a shoo-in, but Ziva always had a way of telling him things that made him feel like he was there watching, when he couldn't be.

"Well it doesn't look like I'll be competing in Beijing after all," she said, pulling him down to the couch with her, shrugging nonchalantly at her own words.

"What? Why not?" he asked, feeling indignant at his wife's inability to make the team. She was Israel's top skater, and they were idiots if they didn't want her to compete with them. "I thought you were in the best shape of your life," he added, his jaw hanging open in shock at the thought of not going with her to Beijing to watch her compete for the gold medal he knew she was still hungry for, deep down.

"I am, but I won't be in February," she said, hoping that he might catch onto her meaning, but he was too frantic to put the pieces together.

"What? Why not?" he echoed, not realizing that he'd said the same thing just a moment ago.

"Tony," she said, pausing and taking a quick sigh, a smile spreading on her face, "I'm pregnant."

"You…" he trailed off, and then suddenly the lightbulb turned on. "You're not going to be in shape because you're going to be visibly pregnant and unable to race… oh, _Ziva,"_ he breathed, pulling her into him and holding her tightly against him, rubbing her back gently and trying not to let the emotions overwhelm him. She was pregnant. She was going to have a baby! He was going to be a father.

Oh, _wow._

"I thought you were on the pill though?" he asked, needing the clarification. They'd been so careful, knowing that Ziva had another Olympic run coming up.

She shrugged. "I was, but it is not completely effective. Only like ninety-nine percent."

"Those are incredible odds," he said, drawing back and touching her lightly on the stomach, awed at what her body now currently protected. "And you're sure you don't want to wait? So you can compete again? I will support you if you…" he couldn't even say it, what he meant, but he wanted her to know that he wouldn't be upset if she wanted to put this off for a while, so she could go after the gold medal she hadn't gotten in PyeongChang.

"I don't want to do that," she said. "I do not need a gold medal, Tony. I already won the best prize at the Olympics."

"No you didn't," he said, unable to keep from arguing. Ziva would say that _he_ was the best prize, but he knew for a fact that _she_ was the best prize, hands down. He leaned in, taking her lips in a passionate embrace, running his fingers through her hair as he pulled her close, allowing the flames of their heated embrace to slowly consume them.

"We both won," she said, finally pulling away from him and gazing into his eyes, her forehead touching his as they breathed for each other, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach again, reminding him of all they had together now.

"Yeah we did," he agreed, pulling his family close and reveling in the knowledge that this was a golden moment worth waiting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this story. Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me. I’ve enjoyed every moment of putting Tiva through the Olympics and I hope that I’ll be able to post more frequently in the future. Reviews sustain me, so if you have a minute please let me know what you think.

**Author's Note:**

> There will (hopefully) be a short epilogue to this posted in a new chapter in the next few days. I’m hoping for tomorrow but I’m not making any promises because work can drain my energy. Next weekend at the latest. But I know you would all love to know what happens next! 
> 
> I know it’s been forever since I’ve published anything, and I’m so sorry. My muse deserted me and came back when I least expected it with this piece, which I wrote over two days. I hope you enjoy this and that you take the time to let me know.


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